The Elf and the Warrior
by TrinityC
Summary: The Fellowship are telling stories to pass the time; the Hobbits want a tale like that of Beren and Luthien, so Boromir tells the sad tale of the Elf and the Warrior...


Disclaimer: Those you recognise belong to JRR Tolkien. Those you don't belong to me. Simple, really...

Author's Note: Thanks to Becki for the ideas and Laiqalasse for the beta job!

**The Elf and the Warrior**

The Fellowship had stopped to rest while the daylight lasted. Although they were tired, none of them felt quite like sleeping, and they fell to telling tales to pass the time. Gimli spoke of his mountain home, and Frodo, with much help and many interjections from Merry and Pippin, described the many birthday parties held for himself and Bilbo. The memory of the last party, however, sobered the Hobbits, for it had been the eve of Frodo's departure upon this quest. There was a moment or two of quiet and then Sam, seeing the sadness on his master's face, spoke up.

"I think we need another tale, one that's not so close to home, if you catch my meaning."

"What sort of tale?" asked Merry. "I could tell you all plenty about the trouble Pip has got me into over the years."

"Me?" exclaimed Pippin indignantly. He was about to start an argument with Merry, but Frodo laid a hand on his arm and he fell silent.

"Not now, Pip. Strider, I very much enjoyed the Song of Beren and Lúthien that you sang to us at Weathertop, and I should like to hear another like it. Do you know one you might sing to us?"

Aragorn's face darkened for a moment, and he shook his head. "I am sorry, Frodo. I do not know any other such songs or tales. Perhaps Legolas might know something like it?" The Ranger stood and stepped outside the circle of travellers, walking some way off and staring out across the landscape as if looking for something.

The Hobbits' eyes turned expectantly to Legolas, but the Elf shook his head. "To my knowledge, Tinuviel's Song is unique. There is no other tale quite like it."

"There is a similar tale told in Gondor," said Boromir, "but the ending is sadder."

"Really?" said Pippin, all ears. "What happened? What's the tale called? Who is it about?"

"If you will hold your tongue for a moment or two, I will tell you," said Boromir, not unkindly, and he cleared his throat. "I am a man of action, not words, and I cannot tell the tale in verse or song, but I will do my best. As I said, it is a sad story, the tale of the Elf and the Warrior."

Gandalf snorted at this. "A warrior? I always thought that 'mercenary' was a far more accurate title for the girl."

"A girl warrior?" said Merry. "I didn't think there were any."

"Never mind that, Merry, how does Gandalf know? Did you know her, Gandalf?" Pippin wanted to know. "How old are you, Gandalf?"

"Peregrin Took, do you wish to hear Boromir's story or not?" said Gandalf, his voice rumbling with irritation.

"Yes, I do. Sorry, Boromir." Pippin settled down with an apple he had produced from one of his pockets and Boromir resumed his story.

"It is said that a warrior of Gondor was once travelling through a forest when she was set upon by orcs. She fought them bravely and killed several but at the end her strength was failing and she began to lose heart. Things looked black for her indeed, but just as the last orc stood above her, about to finish her off, two arrows came flying as if from nowhere, one after the other as fast as lightning, and killed the creature where it stood."

"How lucky," said Pippin, crunching his apple and looking round at his companions. Most of them were wearing their long-suffering 'please be quiet, Pippin' faces, but the young Hobbit thought he detected a hint of true sadness on the fair face of Legolas. Sensing the Hobbit's gaze upon him, the Elf glanced at Pippin and his expression seemed to melt away, replaced by the customary impassive mask that Pippin suspected he practised when nobody was watching him. Pippin was too busy wondering about this to continue his interruption, so Boromir took up the tale again.

"The girl barely had time to wonder where the arrows had come from before her rescuer was standing before her, helping her to her feet and enquiring of her how bad her injuries were. Exhausted as she was, her vision was dimmed and she could not focus on him properly, so it took her a few moments to realise that her rescuer was an Elf. And her heart sank, for in that moment of recognition she knew that she loved him, and would love him until the end of her days.

"The Elf helped the girl off the road, dressed her wounds, gave her food, and watched over her while she slept. In the morning it was apparent that her worst wound was not healing, and the Elf decided to take her to the Healers of his people. She was unable to ride her own horse, so he held her before him on his horse and she slept peacefully in his arms.

"When they reached the city of the Elves, he took her straight to the Healers, and she was surprised to hear them address her rescuer as their Prince. But he would take no deference from her, saying that she should consider him her friend and speak to him as such. This she did, but wonderingly, for this was not how she had expected royalty, especially Elven royalty, to behave."

"Well, not all royal Elves are stiff and formal, are they?" said Merry. "Legolas is quite relaxed. Sometimes, anyway." He grinned across at the Elf, getting a faintly amused smile in return. Pippin, who had been watching Legolas out of the corner of his eye, was by now almost convinced that he had imagined the sadness on Legolas' face. The Elf had remained expressionless as Boromir told the story, and Pippin reminded himself that he was neither the cleverest nor the most observant Hobbit, and he did have an overactive imagination. Besides, Legolas was always rather melancholy; perhaps it was part of being an Elf.

"She was the daughter of a peasant, remember, young Meriadoc, and not used to moving in such exalted circles as you," rumbled Gandalf, puffing on his pipe. "Now, Boromir, if our excitable young friend has said his piece?" he looked enquiringly at Merry, who nodded meekly, "perhaps you would be so good as to continue your tale once more."

"With pleasure, Gandalf. The Elven Healers tended the warrior's wounds, and soon she was on the road to recovery. She was anxious to leave, for she had been returning from a mission and wished to deliver her report to her employer; she also wished to run from the feelings in her heart. But the Prince and the Healers forbade her to leave, for although her wounds were healing, she was not truly recovered and was sorely lacking in strength. To calm her worries, however, the Prince sent a messenger to her employer stating the outcome of her mission and the events that had overtaken her on her road home.

"So the human warrior stayed in the city of the Elves for some time, although she had lost track of the days and knew not how long she had been there. While she was still recuperating she became bored and restless, and persuaded the Prince that she would benefit from spending time practising her swordplay and bettering her archery. So they came to spend more and more time together, and so it was that she found that there was no escape from her love for her rescuer. And the Prince, in his turn, slowly came to realise that he could no longer call his heart his own."

At this, Pippin sighed to himself. It was a beautiful story, but Boromir had said it was a sad tale, and Pippin had a feeling that things were about to go wrong for the warrior and the Prince. He was so busy wondering what would happen that he almost forgot to listen and find out, but he managed to drag his attention back to Boromir just in time as the Man of Gondor continued his story.

"In time, the two found themselves confessing their love for one another, and for a while they were almost happy. The choice they would have to make loomed large between them, though for a long time they spoke not of it. But eventually the warrior knew that she would soon have to leave, and they would have to face head on the decision that would shape both their lives." Boromir paused, casting an apprehensive glance at Aragorn, still silhouetted against the sky some way off. The Ranger was uncommonly touchy today, and Boromir had a feeling he knew why, so out of respect he continued his narrative in a lower voice, hoping that Aragorn could not hear him. He had no desire to rub salt into a wound that the Ranger wished kept hidden, unacknowledged even.

"The choice, of course, was this. They could part for ever and spend their respective eternities without each other; or the Prince could forfeit his immortality and pass the short years remaining to him with his love. There were heavy losses and gains on each side of the balance but in the end the choice was his alone. And so, though it broke her heart to suggest it, the warrior offered to leave the Elven city, so that he could make the decision that was truly best for him. The Prince protested but she stood firm, saying that his choice would only be a fair one if she were not there to cloud his judgement. And so, in the end, he accepted her offer, and she prepared to leave his side.

"They parted early on a fine autumn morning, with soft words full of hidden meaning and heartfelt promises; she, that she would wait for him, and he, that whatever he decided he would send word to her as soon as he could, by courier or in person. He escorted her to the boundary of the Elven lands, and as she rode away down the road, every step her horse took seemed to her to be taking her further and further from life, and step by step into cold death.

"When she reached her home, she made her report to her employer and took on a new mission, leaving almost at once. Returning to the life of a mercenary, she passed her years always alone. Secretly she waited for her Elven Prince to come to her, never ceasing to believe that he would come. And she waited unto the end of her days, but he never came."

There was a silence after Boromir ceased speaking, as those who did not already know the tale waited for him to continue. After several moments, as it became obvious that there was no more to come, Pippin could restrain himself no longer.

"That's not the end, is it? There's got to be more than that! You can't just leave it like that, Boromir!"

"That's how the story ends, I am afraid, my friend. I told you it was a sad tale, did I not?"

Sensing that Pippin was about to say something they would all regret later, Frodo laid a hand on his arm again and attempted to change the subject.

"You did indeed, Boromir. Not every story ends happily." He sighed, pushing away the growing sense of foreboding that was beginning to cloud his waking hours. "You did mislead us about one thing though."

Boromir frowned. "And what was that?"

"You said that you are a man of action, not of words, and you could not give us verse or song. But you told the tale so beautifully, it was poetry in itself. I am beginning to see hidden depths in you!"

With a laugh, Boromir shook his head. "If you heard poetry in my words, Master Frodo, then it was not mine but my mother's. I merely told the story as I heard it as a boy, when she used to tell it to my brother and me. She made it so beautiful, and so sad, that her words have stayed with me, though many years have passed and she herself is with us no longer."

There was a respectful silence, in which an idea came to Pippin. He waited a few moments, to be polite, then looked across at the Elf and spoke.

"Legolas!"

The Elf did not respond immediately, and for a moment Pippin wondered if he slept, in that strange way the Elves have, for his expression was unfocussed and infinitely sad. Pippin was about to try again when, with a visible effort, Legolas brought himself back to his companions.

"Yes, Pippin?"

"I was wondering, well, if your people told Boromir's story too, it having Elves in it and everything. I know you said you didn't know any stories like it, but I wondered whether perhaps you had forgotten it." The Hobbit looked hopefully up at his companion.

"I am sorry, Pippin. I had indeed forgotten it. My people do tell that tale, but when they tell it, that is not how the story ends."

"Oh. Will you tell us your ending then? Please," Pippin added as an afterthought, remembering his manners.

The Elf smiled. "I can see that I shall have no peace until I do."

Pippin began to protest, but thought better of it. He did not want to distract Legolas from his story.

"This part of the tale, only my people know, for it never passed into the knowledge of the Men of Gondor," the Elf began, his far-seeing gaze fixed on a point somewhere in the distance. "After the parting of the Elf and the Warrior, the Prince returned to his city to consider his decision. It was far beyond difficult, for as Boromir said, both sides of the balance were equally weighted with good and ill. Although he was unable to lay down his immortality for her, for not all Elves have that choice, if he bound himself to her he would fade away from grief when she died. But eventually he was able to put aside all considerations except the love he felt for his warrior, and in that moment he realised that although to be with her he must give up his entire life, a life without her would be no life at all. And so he left the lands of the Elves, telling none where he was going, and journeyed to Gondor, to the village where the warrior had told him she would be found. He made his way to her house, but he found nobody there save an old woman, sitting by the fire. But there was something oddly familiar about her, and when she turned to him her eyes lit with recognition and she said, "I knew you'd come". And he knew then that this was his warrior, and he had waited too long. For time passes differently for Elves, and it is all too easy for us to forget how quickly the years pass.

"He began to reproach himself for his thoughtlessness, but she bade him stop. She was not bitter, only joyful that her faith in his return had been rewarded and that her long wait was over, no matter how little time was left to them. For she was at the end of her days, and not long for this world."

Legolas paused, and Pippin found a lump rising in his throat. Gulping it down, and blinking against the sudden stinging in his eyes, he waited patiently for the Elf to resume his tale, no longer in the mood for boisterous interruptions.

"At first the Prince refused to believe it, for though her hair was white and her face lined, she was still tall and straight, and her beauty had never left her. But he could not deny for long the weariness he saw hidden deep in her eyes, the look on her face that said she was finally ready to go. He had seen it on his mother's face long centuries before, as she prepared to sail West. And so he realised that he must waste no more time in self-recrimination, but make her last hours as sweet as he would have made her whole life, if he had only come to her sooner. Taking her in his arms, he lifted her up and settled her with him in the chair by the fire and asked her to tell him of all that she had done since last they met.

"They spoke long into the night, and it seemed to the Prince that the years slipped from the face of his beloved and he beheld her young again as she sat curled in his arms and told him of her adventures. And when morning came, and the red light of sunrise flooded the room she sighed contentedly and lifted her face to his for one last kiss. Bidding him remember her with joy and to bear no sadness, she breathed her last, and a tiny piece of his heart died with her. But it did not break, for she had forbidden him to despair. She had become certain that his destiny lay not with her, in mortal life and early death.

"He lifted her up, taking from their place upon the chimney breast her sword and the Elven bow and knives he had given her so long ago, and laid her upon his horse, taking her on her final journey. He laid her body to rest in the woods where they had first met, her bow by her side and the sword and knives crossed upon her chest; he built a cairn over her body and kept vigil there for a month, so that her spirit should not start out into the other world alone. And then he left that place, and never returned."

Legolas stopped speaking, but he remained staring into the distance, a deep melancholy written clearly upon his face. None of the companions spoke for a long while, although Pippin had to find his handkerchief and blow his nose as discreetly as he could, and Frodo and Sam both tried to hide the fact that they were dashing tears from their eyes with the backs of their hands.

Aragorn chose that moment to return to the others; looking round at their long faces, he decided that it was high time they turned in and got some rest. He was about to suggest that he took first watch when Legolas roused himself and stood.

"You should all be resting. I will watch first; I am not weary yet. Aragorn, I will wake you when it is your turn."

Aragorn nearly protested, but the look in his friend's eyes stopped him in his tracks. It was plain that Legolas did not want an argument. So the Ranger shrugged and went to unpack his bedroll, collecting the quietly sniffling Hobbits as he went. Legolas seated himself on a rock not far from the campsite and trained his keen eyes on the far distance, watching for the first sign of pursuit.

Try as he might, Peregrin Took could not get to sleep. The sad story of the Elf and the Warrior, and the immense sorrow on the fair face of his friend, troubled him deeply. Besides, he wanted to know more. He got up as quietly as he could and padded over to the rock where the Elf sat gazing out across the countryside. Settling himself beside Legolas, he waited for just the right moment to ask.

"Hello, Pippin," Legolas smiled. He had heard the young Hobbit fidgeting under his blanket and had known it would only be a matter of time before Pippin decided that what he really needed was someone to talk to.

"Hello, Legolas. I hope you don't mind me disturbing you. I couldn't sleep." He smiled up at the Elf as disarmingly as he could, and took the plunge. "I was wondering, actually, if you knew the Prince in the story? You being an Elf too, and, well, rather old and stuff." He held his breath, waiting to be told that it was none of his concern.

To his immense relief, Legolas nodded and smiled. "I met him once or twice."

"Gosh! How strange for you to hear stories told about people you know. It must seem just like gossip to you."

"That it does, Pippin. I often forget that Elves I know personally are the subject of tales and legends. Glorfindel, for example. He is my very dear friend, and I have yet to get used to hearing him spoken about as a hero of legend by mortals, as if he were long dead."

"It must be very odd. Um. I was wondering if you ever met the warrior, too?"

"Once or twice, I met her."

"Was she very beautiful?" Pippin wanted to know.

"She was," answered Legolas, "although not in the manner in which we Elves reckon beauty. She was not cold and flawless but filled with life, and her spirit burned like fire in her eyes."

Pippin sighed. "She sounds marvellous. I wish I could have met her."

"She was quite something," Legolas smiled. "I think she would probably have liked you."

"Really?" Pippin was overjoyed, and for a moment was lost in imagining himself befriending the brave warrior and riding with her on her missions. But a casual glance at Legolas brought him back down to earth with a bump. That elusive look of melancholy shadowed his friend's eyes again. With an heroic effort of will, Pippin firmly squashed the temptation to ask Legolas what saddened him. The Elf was often melancholy, he reminded himself again, and never spoke of hs feelings. He would not thank Pippin for prying into his private affairs; but he might appreciate some company, and perhaps an apple.

Pippin fished in his pockets and pulled out two apples. Polishing the larger one on his sleeve, he shyly held it out to his companion.

"Would you like an apple, Legolas?"

The Elf returned his attention to the Hobbit and smiled despite himself at the generosity of his small friend. He knew how much Pippin loved apples; indeed he was usually defending his supply from the other Hobbits. "I would love an apple, Pippin. Thank you." He took the proffered fruit and bowed his head in respectful thanks for the none-too-small sacrifice the Hobbit had made.

For a few minutes they sat in companionable silence, munching on their apples. Pippin finished his first, and threw the core into a nearby bush.

"You know, I'm still not tired. I think I'll watch with you, if that's all right?"

Legolas smiled again. "I should like that. Thank you, Pippin."

"You're welcome."

And so the Elf and the Hobbit settled down to their watch, enjoying the peace and quiet of a winter's day spent with a good friend.

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Author's Note (2): I'm working on the 'truth' behind the story of the Elf and the Warrior, and if enough people want to see it I might just post it. So, if you liked this and want to see where it came from, go leave a review and tell me! 


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